Prisoners of the Past
by essihtam
Summary: AU Milliardo Peacecraft is about to announce his engagement to the world, only to be interrupted by an assassination plot. The mission failed. Now there is an assassin loose, and no one knows who it is... or they're not telling... Review!
1. Broken Wedding Plans

This idea just came to me last night so I don't really know where this can go right now. If there's a positive response then maybe I'll put some more thought into it. AU story, but I don't want to explain too much… You'll kind of get the gist as the story develops.

You know the drill…Gundam Wing is not mine. The characters are not mine. I am merely a student with way too much work on her shoulders at the moment. This is my respite so to speak. J Enjoy.

****

Prisoners of the Past

Broken Wedding Plans

Ice blue eyes coolly surveyed the restless congregation who were beginning to their seats.

__

Vultures, all of them… 

Scanning the crowd brought him to several conclusions of who, what and why the people were there. 

Some were well wishers. Genuinely happy people, happy to see him happy on such a happy occasion. Actually, this group was the minority. _Very_ much so the minority in such a large crowd.

Some were women scorned, full of jealousy. These women stood out especially since their hateful gazes were mainly focused on his fiancée with a few glares in his direction every once in a while. Their fiery eyes said "why didn't you choose me as your queen? I could've have been a much better one than _her._"

Some were avaricious leaders ready and willing to schmooze, hoping to gain good favor. This was the largest group of those not belonging to the media. 

His sister, with a reassuring smile but a blank look in her eyes only made him more uneasy. His sister, who normally could make him feel better about any decisions he made even if she didn't agree with him could do no more grimace slightly. Someone who didn't know her as well would think she was being sincere. He knew, however, that Relena harbored feelings of dismay.

The announcement of the engagement of Milliardo Peacecraft, crown prince and soon-to-be King of the pacifist Cinq Kingdom was finally taking place.

He was only 23 years old. Healthy. Wealthy. Virile. Handsome. Charming. In his position the world was both at his feet and in his hands, very literally. He was about to marry a beautiful and kind- hearted woman worthy of becoming his Queen and monarch to the Cinq Kingdom throne.

Why then with every passing day did his heart turn colder…and with everyday it seemed as if his insides were so empty that sometimes he felt them twist and wrench painfully…

*****

A lone figure stood in the shadows on the second floor. One that didn't fit into the well-wishers, women scorned, schmoozers or media categories.

The keen eyes carefully observed the locations of every guard in the hall, starting from the front.

Two by the entrance. No problem. 

Five walking through the seating area. 

One guard on the stage with the future King and Queen.

Shadows crept up into the creases made by the frown on their face. Only eight guards? Did they think the only way in was through the front? _They were making it almost too easy…_

*****

He hated crowds. Media. Taking pictures. A quick glance to his side showed that his fiancée probably shared his feelings. She smiled politely, nervously, and as if sensing his eyes looked over to him.

Her dark eyes brightened and she reached out to clasp his hand in a simple gesture of affection.

Milliardo sighed, gave her hand a little squeeze then began to wonder if he would ever be able to blink again without seeing bright lights dance in front of his eyes.

More flash bulbs ticked off in front of him as the crowd witnessed the proof they didn't know they were waiting for. The lingering side glances, the light lovers' touch of hands, the twinkle in their eyes. No question: Milliardo Peacecraft was marrying the woman he loved.

Relena Peacecraft watched the scene from a different perspective. She had the same reassuring smile on her face. But it was slowly fading away.

Finally a discrete signal came that they were on the air, broadcasting live via satellite to every country around the world and either colony in space. In essence all of humanity was watching him.

No pressure, right?

Milliardo fixed the tie completing his elegant black three piece suit. His trademark platinum hair fell over his shoulders and back neatly, providing a dramatic contrast to the black. He wore a deep blue shirt as a complement to his glacial blue eyes.

In a few confident strides he stood at the podium, then motioned for his fiancée to join him. _Might as well milk it up for them as much as possible. _So what he did was wrap an arm around her waist, the action drawing her closer to his side.

Check off the need for closeness as one more piece of evidence.

"Ladies and gentlemen…", Milliardo's deep baritone came out smooth as velvet into the microphone, "… I'm sure you've heard many rumors about the announcement I'm making today. I feel that now is the time to make it official…"

*****

The hidden figure tensed. It was time. From their spot on the second floor, their gloved hand gripped the 9mm handgun equipped with silencer.

A quick check of the guards' position. The trigger was pulled.

Ready to call it mission accomplished, the assassin turned to head towards the escape route which was right out the window. Too late did they realize that the target was not hit. Missed target meant failed mission. Failed mission meant major repercussions. And there was no time to take another shot, not now when the guards had been alerted. Five more minutes and the hall would be swarming with backup. 

Acknowledging failure, but not ready to accept punishment the figure jumped out the window, then out of sight. 

Meanwhile the world witnessed a horrifying sequence of events.

In pushing him to the floor she'd saved his life.

By being the only person aware of the threat she'd sacrificed her own. 

So her limp body fell to the polished wood floor with a hollow thud. Dead on impact. 

Shot through the heart.

*evil chuckle* how evil am I? Trust me when I say that things are not what they seem. You'd be surprised (I hope) to find out just who is who. But you won't find out just yet anyway. This is where you guys come in… review! Please!


	2. And so the Plot Thickens

Thanks for the positive reviews… still don't have a plan for this story so we'll see where my muse takes me with this one. Putting in some more clues as to what happened in the first chapter, but you still won't get the whole idea. There's no action in this one so it may be a little boring. As always, enjoy.

I'm doing this for fun, OK? 

****

Prisoners of the Past

…And so the plot thickens…

"Family, friends, all loved ones gathered here on this sad occasion. Today we do not mourn a loss, but celebrate a life…" Milliardo tuned out the rest of the priest's speech, not wanting to hear his euphemisms or blessings. Death was final. No amount of happy thoughts could erase it. 

Five days after her death still didn't make it any easier to accept.

It was his fault plain and simple. 

If there had been more security. If he had seen the intruder. If he hadn't been so caught up in his thoughts.

If. 

If. 

If. 

Woulda, coulda, shoulda.

He shook his head to stop his train of thoughts, at the same time shaking strands of platinum hair that shielded his turbulent eyes from view. Feeling guilty wouldn't bring her back either. 

__

But I'll be damned if that assassin lives to kill someone else…

Behind the young monarch stood five younger men, all around the age of 20 with very stern, unreadable expressions. Each where the chief commanders for different divisions of the Cinq Kingdom security forces. Each of the knew Milliardo very well. 

They knew he wanted revenge. And he was not the only one.

At relatively young ages, they were five hardened men who lived through war, death, destruction and wanted no more of it. Individually they took it personally that this funeral could have been avoided. If they hadn't been concerned with Milliardo's detached demeanor and blank expression before the announcement, maybe they would have been more alert.

Relena stood beside her brother, her head bowed. She knew he didn't want this marriage, and neither did she. But she would have never imagined this happening. Guilt nagged at her, the back of her mind saying that maybe she projected her feelings too much. Maybe it was all a reflection of what she wished deep down. Not death, never that. But for her brother to be free of the obligations which were his by birth. For him to be happy.

As the priest continued his eulogy, an inconspicuous man dressed in all black, suit, tie, hat came up to Milliardo and whispered something into his ear. The monarch nodded gravely. Without a word he turned his back to the priest, the crowd, the coffin. He couldn't stand being there with so many conflicting feelings threatening to drive him insane.

An escort consisting of his five security chiefs walked him to the limo waiting, which sped off into the horizon as soon as he got in.

*****

In a small room, inaccessible to most of the general traffic walking through the Cinq Kingdom hospital, a patient slowly opened their eyes for the first time in almost 5 days. 

She'd had several random moments of lucidity during her stay, but each were fleeting, lasting no more than a few seconds before she was too weak to keep awake.

Now as she fully regained consciousness, it was a struggle for her just to open her eyes and adjust to the dim florescent lighting.

She became aware, feeling more than seeing, of two presences coming closer to her room. A small click signaled that the door had been opened. Some taps and shuffles on the linoleum meant the people came inside.

"Your highness, she might not be awake-" a mellow voice began in the tone that all doctors use. A hint of warning mixed in with some ambiguity, poured over with sensible reasoning and empathy. 

"It doesn't matter. I still want to see her." This tone was much more definite. A command that reeked of imperiousness. Confidence. All bred from the high position of the speaker. _That voice… I _know_ that voice…_

"All right. You have 10 minutes." The doctor would bend but not break. Another click meant that the door was closed.

The strange presence with the familiar voice walked closer. She heard the footsteps stop right by her side. She wished for the strength to open her eyes wider. They were not answered. Her body was growing weaker from being awake and thinking about moving, much less moving at all.

She decided to just wait for what he'd do. If only she could keep her mind working… But everything was becoming fuzzy… lights flashed behind her eye lids…and the spinning wouldn't stop…she braced herself as she fell deeper and deeper into the dark, bottomless pit…

*****

Milliardo stared down into the face of the women that he once knew, and almost left him forever. 

The doctor had said that her gunshot wound was very serious, but not critical. The minute differences between the two levels were beyond him, but he took it as a good sign that she would recover to almost full health.

It was short-lived.

As of the moment, the surgery was inconclusive. They couldn't even give a the percentage chance she had to live.

And that scared the hell out of him.

He didn't want to lose her for a second time. Possibly the last time.

He stared into her pale face, and tried to will her to open her eyes. Give him some sort of recognition that she knew he was there with her. There was no response.

Instead he continued to stare at her face. Dark circles outlined her closed eyes. Her cheekbones protruded more than usual given her reduced food intake. It was hard to picture the radiant and glowing face he remembered in the gaunt shell that was lying on the bed before him.

He thought back to the last time he saw her. Two, maybe three years ago? Why try and kid himself? He remembered to the _hour _he last saw her face. It seemed like much longer. Memories of those times always filled him with regret. The past few months could have been completely avoided. The intrusive media, his aloofness and the pain he caused in those close to him, the assassination plot… 

None of them would've have happened if she hadn't left the Cinq two years ago. Just disappeared without a trace. 

When she came to he would be there. This time around she wouldn't run away. He get his questions answered. Until then…

"Sweet dreams, Lucrezia."

Ha I love writing cliffhangers. As a writer they're great, but as a reader I can't stand it. Anyway, I'm in writer mode now. Sorry about the delay and then this being so short. Actually I never write long chapters, but that's for another time. Happy Holidays everyone. And please review, I like feedback (who doesn't?)


	3. More Questions, No Answers

I haven't been able to think about the plot much lately with the amount of school work I have (2 more papers! Yes!), but I do know that I'd like to keep the mysteriousness around until the end. This story has been fun write so far, and thanks very much for the reviews for the first two chapters. 

Standard disclaimer still applies.

****

Prisoners of the Past

More Questions, No Answers

The woman's patronizing look grated on her last nerves as she had to listen to exactly _why _she wasn't allowed to leave.

"I'm sorry Miss, but you may not leave until we have permission from His Majesty specifically." The young nurse had repeated the phrase patiently at least three times. She could see the woman was determined to leave but orders were to watch her at all times until Prince Milliardo returned. 

She didn't know why, and it wasn't her place to question.

Lucrezia nodded her understanding, her mind still trying to think of ways to get out of the hospital. All doors and windows were wired with alarms, security cameras lined the corridors but there had to be a weak point. Every building, however, had at least one corner with one less camera or alarm. But where was that corner? 

She needed to find it fast. 

She had overheard from some of the nurses that he'd be back sometime in the evening. She couldn't face him. Wasn't ready to hear his voice again. 

His voice held some special power over her. 

Maybe it was in the way he said her name. _Lucrezia._ in a particular way where he elongated each syllable so that they rumbled and rolled over her in his deep baritone. 

His eyes had always fascinated her. 

One look at the ice blue paleness of them was like a bolt of lightning. Shocking, the flash of heated electricity so quick and intense one could question if anything really happened. 

She didn't have the strength to face him. Because she didn't think she could stand to have her heart shatter into anymore pieces.

*****

Not for the first time in her young life, Dorothy cursed her bad luck. It seemed life played a game with her in particular, making it her destiny to fail. Always feeding her convictions laced with opportunities, then slamming the proverbial door in her face. 

Now Dorothy Catalonia was not one to whine. She took what she was dealt in stride, her mind always working to come up with ways to gain a new advantage. Strategies. Plans. Tactics. 

Her mind was full of them.

She was consumed by the probabilities of this outcome, and the statistical evidence for that one, and was easily caught up in the fascination of analyzing the risks that went along with wars and the numerous probable outcomes based on statistics.

She found herself at the age of three being raised by her tyrannical grandfather. Between the long battle of heart versus mind, his mind being larger in mass and control and therefore power had won out. The same mind that made the decisions in the past to kill many who had done no wrong except harbor hopes and dreams of a better life.

Beauty is in the eye of the beholder. One man's (or woman's) beauty is another's stolen life. 

That was her motto, one constantly repeated to her by her grandfather, and what made her so accepting of what life revealed for her future. She could always see the beauty in the aspects of life that other people would otherwise be grieving over.

Except when it was her own life on the line.

Now again, she wasn't one to whine. 

Nor did she value her life over others. 

But if there was one thing she hated, one above all others, was having to face and admit failure. Because she knew this time there would be consequences, as she was responsible for _two _things going wrong. 

__

Two things that could have been _zero _if the first plan had worked the way it was planned out, with careful attention to _every probable outcome._

For the first time she felt like a witness to her own life instead of an active participator. And there was only one solution.

*****

Huddled in a large and tattered gray cloak was a person- whether man or woman was hard to distinguish from the size and utter shapelessness of the cloak- sitting on a small wooden bench. A mist of white blew out from their mouth and nose every time they drew in a breath. 

The night was not just cold, it bit deep. The wind stung in contact with skin, almost as if the cold was on the inside, chilling from the bones and working its way out.

It was not just frigid, but the night cast a shroud around the environment. Even the most hawkish of eyes would have trouble to see their feet below them or hands in front.

What madness would drive the cloaked person to sit and wait in the present conditions? Only in darkness did the answer lie, but only if one was foolish enough to wait for the answer to come to them.

Peeking behind small puffs of smoke was the moon, reluctant to shed light on the earth down below. It glowed an eerie yellow, almost unnaturally lit. 

Few streams of light were cast through the canopy to create strange creatures and monsters that could only come out to roam on the darkest of nights. 

Nights just like this one. A perfect night with the right combination of pitch black darkness and uncompromising cold for fear to take reign of people's minds. melding, manipulating, deceiving. all to suit its fancy. 

So she had failed. He'd been a fool to trust that she could do it, even after training and months of planning. But it _shouldn't_ have. He somehow knew in the back of his mind that this would happen. And then she couldn't even clean up the mission, but in her haste to try and make things better ended up in making them worse. Much worse, because now the Cinq Kingdom was on alert. Obviously guards would be around him all the time, any meetings would require ID, maybe even verification. 

She failed, and now he'd have to kill her. Before they found out _who _tried to kill the future king. 

He'd probably have to do it himself. And that's the last thing he wanted. A face to face meeting with him. 

Pent up rage that had built up over the past week was finally let out as a harsh voice broke the dead silence: "Shit.! The plan was foolproof!"

And then silence reigned again.

Soooooo. was that worth the wait? I hope so! I left more clues, but trust me it's still not as clear as it might seem. If you think you know who did it, you never know, it could be someone else. The next few chapters will probably be the beginning of the action, and since I'm not too good with action expect another wait. Thanks for reading and please review!


	4. The Hunt Begins

All right… so I'm not dead, but I am very tired…. Of homework. Of school. Of thinking about all the junk I have to do. 30 or so more days until I graduate! No more papers to write, but I've got 5 exams coming up in the next 3 weeks. Anyway I'd like to once again thank the people who've reviewed this story… I really appreciate the feedback and I hope you're still trying to figure out what's going on. Enjoy the 4th chapter.

Prisoners of the Past

The Hunt Begins

Being watched is a curious feeling. 

It is not always the product of paranoia. Sometimes, one used to strictly being the watcher finds themselves in an unfamiliar position when the roles are reversed. 

It is often characterized by an uneasy stomach, that weird feeling in the twisting of one's gut along with an emptiness that can not be qualified. 

It leaves the throat dry. Hair standing on end. The mind conjuring images embellished by an overzealous imagination.

Noin understood that in leaving the hospital she left her only sanctuary. The only place where she would be free from dealing with unfinished business. But it was also the one place she couldn't stay put. 

__

He knew she was there, and therefore she had to leave before he came back. 

He had the means to track her. The money. The connections. And she knew he would try to eventually. Once he set out on something, he didn't give up. But she had the means to outsmart him. Street-wise experience gained from the last two years of her life. She had escaped from him once, and she would do it again. 

As long as she could run she would run from him.

*****

Dorothy mounted the steep, plush red-velvet lined steps purposely. Her heart beat fast with the anticipation of the action she was sure would ensue.

One more thing her dear grandfather had instilled in her at an early age: the lust for battle. The perverse excitement of fighting to protect one's own life. The rush of adrenalin and grit necessary to will oneself to keep fighting back.

Definitely not ladylike, but Dorothy never claimed to be a lady. Anyone who knew her was not fool enough to even entertain the notion.

Reaching the top step, Dorothy paused to take a deep breath and study her settings. It was quite possibly the last time she saw this place. The ornate ball room. Decorated dome. Elaborate chandeliers. Intricate wood paneling.

A little flutter of emotion filled her heart. A momentary lapse of.. Sadness? Or could it have been… regret? 

She quickly dismissed the thought, not being able to analyze or understand the possible reasons she could be feeling anything other than the excitement that she should be feeling.

Clutching her small pistol tighter she made her way to his room. This was the moment of truth. Little did she know that it was the moment that would decide more than her life, but the lives of many others.

The door was left cracked open so only a pale blue light filtered into the corridor. She expected that he probably knew she was coming. Not to mention what she was coming for.

However, he was prepared to beat her to it.

*****

A man's figure sat comfortably shadowed in the darkness of his office, waiting. At the right moment he stood from his desk. Dorothy had finally come, and it was about time. She had kept him waiting much too long. There was only one way to remedy the problem…

"A drink, Dorothy?" he asked in a low tone.

She let a smirk tilt on side of her mouth. "How very like you never to lose sight of your manners. But it is one of the things I admire the most about you."

"A gentleman never forgets himself in the presence of a woman." He watched her hazy blue eyes narrow with the realization that he purposely did not refer to her as lady. He always had a way of subtly insulting someone while keeping his polite demeanor intact. 

"Of course not. And I regret to decline. There are other issues at hand."

He let a glimmer of smile cross his face. "You are absolutely right. Enough of this idle chatter." He reached into his waist coat to pull out a gun of his own, and aimed it straight at her heart.

"I should kill you right now for all you've done. You let the mission fail."

Dorothy pulled out her own gun but kept it at her side. Once she tried to even raise it he could shoot it out her hand. So instead she bowed her head, a rare sign of her accepting defeat. Her shoulders slumped and grip slightly loosened its hold. 

He watched her carefully and let his own hand slacken around his gun. 

The small click of his finger pulling back from the trigger was when she seized her chance.

Her arm extended so that it was right next to his, level with his own heart. Her glassy eyes narrowed with unconcealed hate. "I do deserve to be killed. But I'll go to hell before I let you be the one to kill me."

*****

"What do you mean she's gone?" A wide-eyed Relena asked. There was no way she could have gotten through the security not only in the hospital, but all around the perimeter.

The nurse shook her head meekly at the stares the five men with Princess Relena were giving her, and repeated what she had said earlier in a small voice.

"She hasn't been seen for over an hour. She must have escaped."

The last bit of information was obvious. The where and the how were the x factors that no one seemed to be able to answer.

Relena thanked the wary nurse who quickly left the small group behind. She looked around her as if trying to glean clues from the surroundings. Absolutely nothing stood out, as Noin had intended.

"We should go check the tapes." That suggestion was from Heero. A very sensible suggestion, and one that had merit. Before they found out not over an hour later that all cameras had been disabled, and the tapes taken. The security in charge of monitoring tied up in a storeroom closet, badly shaken but lucid enough to confirm to them all they needed to know. Noin had left again. 

Relena knew this time Milliardo would not let her go that easily. However, there was still an assassin on the loose. One that was potentially a continual threat to both the remaining royal members of the family. All precautions had to be taken when searching for her.

Relena wasn't aware of the fact that her brother understood Noin better than anyone. 

He knew she was already gone. He had anticipated the chase even before she left. It gave him a strange thrill to think about it. She probably didn't think he would go after her right away, but he had changed over the two years. Grew into a man accustomed to getting his on way. 

This time he would personally make sure of it.

Well, well, well… I did it again. Another cliffhanger. I said there would be action in this chapter and I fibbed a little. There was _more_ action… It's also short again. I can't seem to write long chapters, some kind of mental block in my head. Anyway, I'm slowly deciding where and when to drop those little clues in there. I have to keep it somewhat mysterious or what would happen to the plot? Please review. Have a nice day ^_^


	5. In the Blink of an Eye

I finally have some ideas on where this story can go… let's just say that it'll be going many places. School is over so I can think again! Thanks for reviewing! Glad everyone is enjoying the ride so far, but keep your seats buckled, it's about to get bumpy!

Forgot the disclaimer last time… this is all in fun, yadda yadda yadda.

Prisoners of the Past

In the Blink of an Eye

"Lucrezia Noin… Lucrezia Noin…" Was that a man's voice or a woman's? It was hard to decipher… There was a lilting, lyrical quality to it, along with a bass note only a man could have.

The androgynous voice continued to whisper to her. "You don't mean anything to him… Lucrezia Noin… nothing at all…"

She tried to stop the voice, willed it to stop. _Is this a dream? I should be able to control it by just… wanting it to go away. Wake up, damn it!_

But the voice was so enticing…. "Do you remember your family Lucrezia?" Was that her shaking her head? She couldn't even feel her body moving. "No… because you are no one. And a no one can not marry into the Peacecraft family…"

The voice kept on whispering, but at that point she was no longer listening. It was that very thought that plagued her mind, chanted as a mantra in her subconscious for the past two years. She could never marry into a noble family, much less the oldest remaining noble family on Earth. Not her.

She lacked pedigree. History.

Family.

I'm just…

"… insignificant", supplied the voice for her.

…insignificant…

" …a nobody…", it continued.

…nobody…

"…he does not care about you, or what happens to you…", it finished with a sneer in its voice.

And I can't care about him. Not anymore. Not if I want to forget.

A sharp pain immediately struck her, the force of it leaving her gasping for air and blinking little flashes of bright white light. Behind her eye lids, every time she blinked she saw fire.

Burning. Destruction. Two people running. Screams of men and women and children. The heat was unbearable. Scorching. Choking. The people kept on running.

It was a woman and a child, both dark-haired, smudged with dirt, fear and panic etched on their faces. Desperately looking for shelter.

The woman tripping and falling hard on her right foot. A twisted ankle. Her expression contorting into pain as she shouts to the child, "Keep running!"

And the child beginning to cry. Loud sobs that wracked its small and frail body. Grabbing onto the woman, only to be pushed away again and again.

"Go! Get away from here now!"

One last shove sending the child stumbling away, and the woman left behind to watch crying silently, accepting her fate. The flames indiscriminatingly engulfing their surroundings. No concern for the living, be they mothers or fathers, or children with their whole lives ahead of them.

No mercy. No emotion. A fire, once started, gladly burns. And it will not go out without a fight.

It certainly does not care who burns with it.

Warriors do not blink. Precious seconds pass when one blinks that could cost them a battle. This was how the staring contest began. Blue on blue, not even flinching.

If either talked, it would mean their end.

At that moment, while staring into the cold eyes of her potential killer and victim, Dorothy finally understood why battles were often likened to a chess match. It wasn't about strategy only, because strategy has no account for luck. In a chess match, what is luck to one player is the opposition's mistake. If a chess game was played mistake free by both players it would always in a stalemate.

Dorothy was no stranger to thinking on her feet, and at that moment decided the best way to get out of her predicament was the only option open to her.

"Why don't we settle this by starting all over?"

He noticed how her eyes held a strange gleam, one that he couldn't place. Malicious, maybe. Conniving, certainly. "What are you suggesting?"

He was still curious, after all.

Dorothy took a chance in his apparent interest by lowering her gun. "I'm suggesting that we complete the original mission. Sweep away all the left over… trash… otherwise…"

She left the possibilities hanging in the air, but he knew exactly what the 'otherwise' entailed. He knew the original mission better than he knew himself, the culmination of almost two years of planning. To have it go wrong… _so… fucking…wrong…_made his blood boil. Most of the time he didn't even want to think about the problems he created for himself because he'd get into a towering rage.

The major problem with completing was the mission was _he _could find out. And all signs would point back to him. _He _was the last person he wanted to face for so many reasons. The thought of _him _made his eyes flare up with hatred, his heart beat with an unnatural ferocity. Uncanny, the feelings that came about when he thought of _him._

Burning hate is a dangerous creature. It turns a person blind to all but one thing, the one thing that can motivate the most indifferent of beings, the most cunning of all evils.

Its persuasive skills can tempt the holiest of men… no euphemism can truly encompass it's power over people, it has no redeeming qualities…

Simply put, it's revenge. Sweet, swift, and satisfying.

"The mission is officially back on track."

Woohoo I'm going places now… I've got a whole storyline past, present and future set up, so now I need to write it out. Sorry for the shortness. I'm working on that. Wondering what's going on? Who is Dorothy talking to? What's up Noin? Will Milliardo find her, and what happens when he does? Keep wondering. I'm trying to build suspense here. Enjoy your summer!


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